Ali
July 8, 2016
My wife has never held famous athletes and coaches in very high regard. Much of this has to do with her disdain for misplaced priorities – so much attention and extravagant spending devoted to entertainment and sports when so much of the world’s population is without most basic essentials of life.
Because of my work, my wife occasionally has been in the company of some of the biggest names in American sports; but only one clenched her in rapt attention. It was Muhammad Ali.
We were attending a banquet at which Ali was honored. We sat at adjacent tables, with the back of my wife’s chair almost touching the back of the chair to which Ali was being ushered, slowly because of his disease.
We all stood as Ali entered. My wife’s eyes were on Ali; my eyes were on my wife, for I had never seen her give respect to a sports personality in this manner.
After the banquet, and at times since then, and certainly again after his death June 3, my wife and I have talked about what it is in Ali that she hasn’t seen in other prominent sports figures.
We noted that he brought elegance to a brutal sport, and charm to boastfulness. We cited the twinkle in his eye that outlasted his diseased body.
We recalled the tolerance and dignity he brought to his faith, and how he demonstrated his faith commitment at the most inconvenient time in his career.
We recalled his poetry when he was young and talked too much, and his use of magic to communicate after disease stole his words, as he did that night we were with him.
Years after that banquet, when Ali lit the Olympic flame at the 1996 Olympics, my wife cried. She had tears in her eyes again when that moment was replayed on the day after Ali’s death.
Ali ascended to worldwide fame in a different era – when professional media tended to be enablers more than investigative journalists, and before social media pushed every personal weakness around the planet overnight. It’s possible Ali would not have been as loved if he had emerged in public life today. It’s also possible he would have been even more beloved.
Don’t Look Back
November 23, 2011
In August of 1986, at the end of the one week of overlap between the previous MHSAA executive director, Vern Norris, and the start of my tenure, I found an envelope on my desk from Mr. Norris that read: “No words of advice. Just make your decisions and don’t look back.” That’s Lesson No. 5 of six in this series of blogs.
In our work, time is of the essence. We don’t have the luxury of long deliberations. The next game may be today; the next round of the tournament tomorrow.
In our work, staff is limited. We don’t have subpoena power. We have few staff spread thinly over many responsibilities.
In our work, because it’s in a competitive arena, people are sometimes disingenuous. Some have personal agendas, impure motives sometimes. They care who wins and loses; we don’t.
And most people have miserable memories. I’m skeptical that people recall well the details of events; and people are even worse when recalling details of conversations.
So, in our work, we make one more call and then, with good intentions and reliance on rules, we get on with the decision and try not to look back.
It’s hard to do, but a good deal healthier if we can.